


Wet Bread (makes for a strange Grilled Cheese)

by selannes



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2018 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Dirty Talk, M/M, Watersports, im not kidding about the watersports ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 17:23:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14501880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selannes/pseuds/selannes
Summary: Half of Philadelphia wants to piss on Sid but Claude would much rather Sid pissed on him.





	Wet Bread (makes for a strange Grilled Cheese)

**Author's Note:**

> Sid literally pisses on Claude so if ur not here for that I can't help you pal  
> This happened because of that pic floating around (it's linked in the fic)  
> I'm sorry G :( you are my favorite I swear

After game 3 Claude let himself into his house, his feet so heavy they could have been encased in cement. With not even enough energy to turn the light on, Claude navigated the rooms of his house in the dark reaching his bedroom and shedding his clothes onto the floor before collapsing on the bedding face first. Today’s game had not gone well. Sure, it wasn’t as bad as game one – which had been a touchdown from the Pen’s and not even a single goal for the Flyers – but it never felt good to lose. All night they’d been pushing and pushing but they just weren’t finding the back of the net. Even just thinking of getting back on the ice to face Pittsburgh for game 4 made Claude want to crawl into some dark hole somewhere and not move, his muscles aching. But saying that Claude knew it wasn’t exactly true… Although he did feel so _so_ tired Claude felt some small part of him thrill. Game 4. Playoffs. Pittsburgh. Sidney fucking Crosby.

_Buzz._

Claude groaned as he crawled sideways off the bed to reach his phone in his jacket pocket. Flicking in his passcode, squinting at the glare of the lit screen, Claude saw it was an incoming text from Jakub.

**U seen this? Someone put one of these in all of the urinals**

Claude clicked on the [link](https://i.redd.it/fy8wnjomg4s01.jpg) and chuckled weakly at what he saw before he typed back a reply.

**Stay classy Philly**

After receiving 20 laughing and 5 crying emoji’s from Voracek, Claude shut his phone off and rolled back onto his stomach, pressing his face into his pillow.

Claude wasn’t surprised that all of Wells Fargo had apparently pissed on a picture of Crosby with unrestrained glee. No, Claude didn’t doubt that at all. He just wished to God that they hadn’t done it, what with the absolute pounding that Pittsburgh gave them. Hell, it felt more like Crosby had pissed on them tonight.

Claude felt his dick give a weak twitch. Huh.

For about a second Claude debated with himself over what the fuck _that_ meant before ultimately deciding he was far too tired and to leave it for future Claude to deal with. Closing his eyes he forcibly pushed any thoughts of piss from his mind and fell into the sleep of someone who just had a very tiring day.

* * *

 

The next day Claude was taking off his sweaty clothes after practice on their off day, thinking on what the coach had said to the team earlier that day. _You need to want it more than them,_ Hakstol had told them. _If you don’t want it more than them you’ll never win._ Claude wanted it plenty. Sometimes it felt like it was the only thing he knew – how to want want want. Want the point, want the goal. Want the cup. It consumed Claude; he burned all over with the desire for victory. Sometimes, he couldn’t think over the dull throbbing sensation of losing again and again, year after year. Claude was pretty sure this was what Danny had warned him about, all those years ago in a loud house filled with loud love. _You need something other than Hockey G,_ Danny had said. _Hockey’s all that I need,_ Claude had replied proud and young – so, so young. Danny had given him a little smile, Claude remembers, but his eyes had spoken of pity. _I hope that’s true Claude, I really do._ Claude hadn’t understood what Danny had meant back then, blinded by the bright lights of the future, to really get what Danny had been trying to tell him. Claude got it now.

“I dunno, I thought it was funny,” Claude blinked, felt himself settle fully in the present and the now. Don’t think of the past.

Looking to his left he saw Simmer and Nolan and Jakub all chatting. Simmer was shaking his head, “It would have been funnier if we’d won.” Simmonds had a deep frown on his face as he turned around to finish getting dressed.

“Yeah,” Nolan said. “I feel like he somehow knew someone did that and it fuelled him to instead piss all over us in retaliation.” Oh, they were talking about the urinals.

Claude felt a flash of heat surge through him and his skin prickle at the image’s that brought. Crosby pissing on him. Crosby standing there all calm and cool, a look of disinterest on his face as he let his piss splatter on Claude. The warmth of it as it hit his chest, the shame he’d feel as he just sat there and took everything Crosby had to give.

 _Fuck_ , Claude thought, ears and neck red, as he turned to hide his semi from the rest of the room. _What the fuck is wrong with me? There is no scenario in which Sidney Crosby should be getting me hard, never mind a scenario in which I’m hard because of the thought of him_ pissing _on me._

* * *

Claude lay on the bed and reached down through his sweatpants to feel his growing erection. As he palmed himself he tried to clear his mind, relaxing into the bed as he did so. Claude reached for his waistband and shoved his sweats of his legs, widening his feet to rest flat on the sheets. As he gripped himself and started a slow tempo, past sexual encounters flashed across his mind and he was now rock hard. Claude turned his face to pant into his pillow and he sped up the pace of his hand. He thumbed the top of his cock and spread the precum over his shaft. Claude closed his eyes and relished in the feeling of desperation as he raced to his finish. Then, unbidden, an image of a man standing over him as he relieved himself. A voice, telling him he’s dirty and gross as a stream of piss splashes his face. Claude gasped as if choked, cumming all over his chest, and it didn’t feel like what he imagined a steady stream of piss would, but with his eyes closed he could imagine. Hot and strong smelling. Dirty and Shameful. Claude wanted it and despised it all at once.

What was wrong with him? Or, a better question, what had Sidney Crosby unlocked inside of him?

* * *

 

The score was 3-2 to Pittsburgh but Claude had a good feeling about this game. The momentum was all theirs, only aided by the crowd yelling every time they had possession of the puck. Claude glided into position for a face off against Crosby and wondered how long it would take the ref to throw one them out this time. Claude hadn’t been avoiding looking at Crosby exactly, because that would be a rookie mistake to let the opponent get in his head like that, but he had been sure to not look his way for longer than necessary – just in case. In a face off, however, it was unavoidable and as such Claude lifted his head and locked eyes with Crosby’s through their visors. Claude tried his best to mask his face into a blank slate, to match the calm expression across from him, but hiding his emotions had never come easy to Claude. Crosby lifted an eyebrow but before he could say anything the ref was throwing him out of the circle. _Some things never change_ , thought Claude trying his best not to sigh at the relief he felt at having Crosby’s intense stare off of him.

It was a tough 3rd period, fighting and pushing and shoving just to scrape together enough goals to tie by the end of regulation. Overtime was tough, but playoffs overtime? Another type of hell altogether. And hell it was as Claude raced up and down the length of the ice, the puck changing sticks and turning over faster than you could blink. Elliott was on his game, stealing chances from the Pens with a sort of ruthlessness that inspired the rest of the Flyers to push that much harder, and then it was just one last sprint to the finish line. Claude had a chance – finally - and with a smooth pass to Coots, who shot it over the right pad of the brick wall that was Murray, game 4 was over and in favour for the Flyers. The series was 3-1 for Pittsburgh. It’ll be a tough climb, but Claude has hope. He believes in his team.

Claude felt high up and airy, almost floated away on the feeling of _yes yes yes finally_ when a hard body slammed into him ( _Simmer? Or was it Patrick? Could have been Provorov_ ) pulling him down and grounding him into the present as he yelled and received yells from an entire team of happy orange blurs, all trying to get close so they could hug and rub helmets and just breathe in the feeling of scoring, desperate last-chance scoring.

Eventually, Claude managed to extricate himself from the puppy pile that was taking place on the ice, skating over to the now empty goal to grab the puck. Turning it over in his hands Claude almost got lost again thinking, _in it in it, we’re not out don’t count us out yet, don’t count_ me _out_ when the touch of bare skin on bare skin caught his attention.

Crosby. His glove was off and his hand was holding Claude’s wrist, fitting perfectly between the gap of the jersey and the glove.

“Giroux… Can we talk?” Looking around Claude saw that Simmonds was making his way over from the group so Claude motioned to him that it was alright and Simmonds looked pained, but he nodded and spun away.

“Sure.” Crosby’s hand was still holding onto his wrist, a bright flare of heat throbbing up his arm. Crosby saw where he was looking and let go, but the heat persisted in licking up his arms.

“Looks like it’s going to be a long series,” Crosby said, with a quirk of his lips that didn’t match with the steel in his eyes. Claude didn’t disagree but he wasn’t sure why Crosby had come over just to say that.

Crosby laughed when he told him as such.

“I just wanted to make sure I’m not going to find a surprise in the bathroom for game 5.” Crosby raised an eyebrow. Claude hoped he wasn’t flushing too noticeably.

“I didn’t do that.”

“I know,” Crosby said, “It’s not your style.”

“Besides,” Claude started. “You got your own back when you pissed all over me.” Claude felt a swooping in his stomach, “Us. I meant us - you pissed on us.” _Fuck._ Claude had been going for a joking tone but instead he’d just come across as nervous and high pitched. _Fuck I really should learn to keep my mouth shut_.

Crosby opened his mouth, eyes wide, not with shock necessarily, but Claude didn’t want to hear whatever was about to be said so he brushed past Crosby and made his way over to his team. Hours later, in the comfort of his hotel room Claude could still feel Crosby’s gaze on him.

A long series, indeed.

* * *

 

Claude guesses Crosby wasn’t wrong; it will be a long series. Not so much for the Flyers now though. Game 6 was done and dusted and so was their series. Tomorrow Claude and his team will fly home, lick their wounds and vow to come back next year, bigger and better and stronger. Just like they’d vowed last year. And the year before.

At least now Claude wouldn’t have to look on the Penguins anymore, look at Letang and Malkin and Kessel. No more stares from Crosby who seemingly didn’t look away from Claude through games 5 and 6. Well, that’s how it felt to Claude, who tried not to look at Crosby if he couldn’t help it and yet still had enough eye contact with the man to last a lifetime.

Claude was making his way out of the PPG Paints arena to get on the bus to take him to his hotel when he stopped in his tracks upon seeing a familiar figure waiting for him.

“Hey,” Crosby gave a little awkward wave and Claude felt himself scowl.

“What do you want – here to rub your victory in my face?” Crosby looked shocked at the vitriol coming from Claude, which made no sense when considering their history. Or rather, parts of their history Claude amended. There were periods where they had gotten along, to everyone’s surprise including their own.

“I’m not here to rub it in, I would never…” Crosby’s face twisted up a bit, and didn’t finish the sentence simply shaking his head. “Anyway, I was just wondering if you wanted a ride to your hotel.”

“There’s a team bus that’ll take me there,” Claude pointed out, expecting Crosby to grow red and stutter and flee.

Crosby did none of that and instead calmly looked Claude in the eyes.

“I know that. So, do you want a ride?”

Claude paused, thinking. He could tell Crosby to fuck off, go outside and get on the bus with his team and commiserate the loss with them until they got to the hotel. Go to his room, alone, and sleep, alone.

Or he could go with Sidney Crosby and take a step towards whatever this feeling was that filled his stomach whenever they saw each other.

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Ok, I’ll go with you. But we’re picking up some food first. And you’re paying.”

Crosby rolled his eyes but the corners of his mouth were turned up and pleased looking.

* * *

 

When Crosby pulled up to a house that was fairly evidently _not_ the hotel Claude turned to him and gave him a look.

“I know, I know - I just thought – I can still drive you to the hotel if you want – but I thought you might want to stay here tonight. I’ll drive you the hotel now or tomorrow if you want but-“

“Sure, I’ll stay here tonight.” Claude smirked at Crosby who still looked like he was gearing up to further argue the benefits of staying with him for the night.

“Okay… Good.”

The two of them sat in Crosby’s freakishly clean kitchen as they ate (Claude had a burger because he was tired and he didn’t need to stay on diet anymore they were eliminated it was over it wasn’t happening) and once they finished Crosby led the way into the slightly more cosy feeling living room.

While he was waiting for Crosby to say whatever it was he had invited Claude here to say, Claude wrote out a message to Simmonds to let him know he wouldn’t be at the hotel until the next morning and turned off his phone so as to avoid any probing questions.

“Claude.”

A raised eyebrow, “Crosby.”

“Sid,” Sid said firmly.

“Sid,” Claude rolled his eyes. “Why am I here?”

“I thought we should talk.”

Claude frowned, “I don’t know what you’d want to talk to me about.”

Sid looked Claude in the eyes and Claude felt himself start to sweat at the knowing look there, “I think you know what.”

Sid must have seen the panicked look on Claude’s face and taken pity on him because he didn’t press and instead changed the subject.

Although apparently not too much pity because he started talking about the game.

“It was really close; you were a good team this year. I can’t believe it went to 7 games.”

“Uh-huh.” The only reason Claude didn’t eye roll was because he wasn’t sure he had the energy to.

“Although, you weren’t as fired up these past few games.” Claude felt himself freeze. “Well, that is-” Claude cut Sid off.

“I wanted it. I wanted it more than anything, it’s all I wanted, you don’t even know – how could you possibly know, you who gets everything they want. Fuck you, Sidney Crosby. You don’t understand anything.” Claude could feel his world shrinking and he stood up, intent to get the hell out of Sidney fucking Crosby’s house with its weird impersonal touches and walk back to the hotel if he had to, when his legs screamed at him and he nearly buckled and fell on the floor if not for the firm hand at his elbow keeping him up.

“Hey, hey easy there,” Sid was trying to soothe Claude but it only incensed him further.

“Don’t fucking touch me, let go of me.” Claude tried to tear his elbow out of Sid’s grasp but, if he was too tired to stay standing, he was definitely too tired to escape Sid’s grip.

“I’ll let go, let me just get you sat down first. Please.”

Sid lowered himself down onto the sofa and Claude went with him, the two of them seated far too close on the sofa together. Once they were sat Sid did let him go - not that it mattered with the two of them touching from thighs to shoulders.

“I wanted it.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just meant you didn’t chirp me as much as in past years, that’s all. That you weren’t as antagonistic as before. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t trying.” Claude felt himself calm a bit, leaning to the right to settle more solidly against Sid.

“It’s not 2012 anymore, Sidney. We’re different, we’ve changed.” Claude sighed, “Hell, I’m one of the few Flyer’s left who was there for 2012…” Claude’s chest would start to hurt a little if he thought about that for too long.

Sid laughed, “You’re right we have changed.” Claude knew they were both thinking of Worlds, and what a fever dream of a partnership they’d had that year. How those games had changed the chemical makeup of how they would interact forever from that point. Claude almost viewed it as a crossroads for them – by going down that path their lives had forever changed.

Claude wasn’t sure if it was the better, wondered if maybe they were better off in black and white – rivals to the bitter end instead of this weird friends-enemies thing they had now.

They were silent for some time before Sid cleared his throat, “You’re wrong though.”

“About what?”

“I don’t always get what I want… and you’re also wrong about you only wanting the cup.”

Claude felt himself tense, “What does that mean?” Claude knew what it meant.

Sid placed his hand high on Claude’s thigh, “You want me to piss on you.”

Claude’s cock jumped in his pants and there was no way – no way – that Sid didn’t notice it.

“What-” Claude’s voice noticeably cracked, “What are you even saying, of course I don’t want that!”

“No, you do. It’s okay Claude.” How Sid could be this calm was crazy, Claude thought.

“I don’t, I don’t want that. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Crosby.” Claude was going bright red and he was painfully aware that his cock was growing harder.

“If you don’t want it, that’s fine. But, if you do, I’m very willing to help you with that.” Sid moved his hand up and down Claude’s thigh. “It’s ok, Claude. You don’t have to agree to anything right yet. We’re both too tired, and you need some time to think about what you want.”

Claude bit his lip but didn’t show any other signs that he’d heard Sid.

Sid patted his thigh, “C’mon, I can set up the guest room for you.” Claude nodded before standing up and leaning on Sid slightly as they made their way upstairs.

* * *

 

 Ever since that night Claude and Sid had been regularly texting - much to Claude’s surprise. Although Sid was busy preparing to face the Capitals in the second round of the Playoffs, Sid would still text him sporadically throughout the day. Claude already knew that they were similar, that they could have been good friends if not for whole Penguins-Flyers rivalry thing. When Claude found himself laughing at Sid’s snarky comments and relaxing for, what felt like the first time in a long time, he felt himself puzzle a little at just _how_ well they were getting along. Sid hadn’t mentioned the… piss thing again, not since that night with his hand on Claude’s thigh and a breathy tone of voice. Claude didn’t mention it either, not really ready to even broach such a topic with someone who for most of the year (most of his life) was categorized in his mind as ‘rival’.

**Sid:**

**Someone just bumped into me and swore at me for being in their way**

**Claude:**

**What do you want me to do about it?**

**Sid:**

**Nothing it just reminded me of you**

**Claude:**

**Aww that’s sweet**

**Sid:**

**Round 2 starts today**

**Claude:**

**So it does**

**Sid:**

**Are you going to watch me?**

Me. Are you going to watch _me._ Sid didn’t even bother trying to blanket it under ‘the team’ or ‘the game’. Claude wasn’t sure if he found that self-confidence annoying or attractive. Maybe a little of both, Claude thought.

**Claude:**

**I could be persuaded to watch it**

_Ugh_ , Claude kind of hated how desperate he sounded. Sid must like it though, because he replied:

**Come to Pittsburgh**

**Claude:**

**What now?**

**Sid:**

**For game three**

**Claude:**

**So I can watch you psychologically damage Ovechkin in person? No thanks.**

**Sid:**

**You wouldn’t have to be at the stadium, you could watch it at my house. I’d like to have dinner with you afterwards.**

This is dumb, Claude thought. I’m dumb. Gripping the phone so tightly he could hear it protesting Claude replied.

**I’ll be there.**

* * *

Claude feels kind of weird sitting in Crosby’s huge ass house all alone, but at least it’s comfortable he supposes as he slumps further into the cushions. It had been weird, seeing Sid again. Knocking on his door Claude had felt strange, like someone was going to see him and want to interrogate him. At least Sid didn’t live in Lemieux’s back garden anymore (although being down the street from him wasn’t _much_ better). So there’s that.

The feeling of sitting in Crosby’s house is nothing compared to watching the game though. It’s a fast paced game with lots of points, but it’s not enough to distract Claude from the squirming feeling he gets in his stomach every time his eye catches 87 on the ice. Claude kind of hates himself for cheering when Sid scores, not that he’s ever telling Sid that he did.

The game ends as a turnaround win for the Penguins, a classic Pens-Caps game Claude thinks with some sympathy for the guys from Washington. He knows all too well that feeling of hopelessness that happens when you’re on the ice with Pittsburgh. When Sid gets back he’s in a good mood, back in his game day suit.

“You’re still here,” Sid’s face looks kind of constipated – like he doesn’t know why he feels so happy with a Flyer in his house which is kind of hilarious to Claude, cause he’s not sure how to feel either.

“What kind of person invites someone over and then acts shocked when they’re still there?” Sid rolls his eyes so Claude reckons he won this verbal battle.

They move into the kitchen, so Sid can make himself some food while Claude watches him, and he finds himself wondering, not for the first time, what he’s doing there.

“What did you think of the game?” Claude really shouldn’t be surprised Sidney “hockey first” Crosby wants to talk about the game.

“Not enough hits to the Penguins to satisfy me,” Claude smirks as Sid purses his lips at him bitchily.

Sid’s face kind of smooths over, “Maybe we could do something else to satisfy you then?” And holy shit it’s happening again, Crosby’s propositioning him again - it wasn’t a dream.

Claude is slightly more awake and aware (and he’s maybe been thinking about this a lot) so he doesn’t beat around the bush, “Are you hitting on me?”

Sid’s blushing and looks like he wants to avoid eye contact but he doesn’t, “Yes. Are you interested?”

And… Claude is. He has been for a while now. Claude had originally been worried about Sid asking him over because of the piss thing - but apparently it was actually a booty call and Claude feels much better about coming over after all.

“Let’s go,” Claude grabs Sid’s hand and pulls him away from the table then slows.

“What? Changing your mind?”

“I don’t actually know where your bedroom is,” Claude says slightly sheepishly.

Sid laughs, “It’s ok, I like how eager you are.”

“Oh fuck off Crosby, it’s not my fault you live in some huge ass mansion.” Sid’s nice enough not to mention Claude’s own nice living arrangements and simply shows him the way to his bedroom.

* * *

 

They’re lying on Sid’s bed, half naked, making out (the sheets are thankfully boring navy – Claude was genuinely worried they were going to be Pittsburgh themed.) Claude’s hand is sliding over Sid’s bare belly when Sid’s own hand snakes down into his trousers.

“Oh, I’m the eager one?” Claude says into Sid’s mouth, reluctant to stop kissing but unable to resist chirping.

Sid says nothing, only smiles, and wraps his hand around Claude’s length and starts to slowly jerk him off. Claude sighs in pleasure and to, return the favour, undoes Sid’s dress pants to pull him out.

Claude presses kisses along Sid’s jaw as they stroke each other, languidly, just feeling each other – testing the waters. After a while Claude wraps a leg around Sid’s hip to pull them closer together, the knuckles on their hands brushing after every other stroke.

“Faster, Crosby.”

“Sid.” Insufferable.

“Faster, _Sid_ , or I’ll just do it myself.”

Sid hums, “Your manners need some work,” but he does go faster and Claude’s breath starts to pick up and he matches the pace on Sid’s own cock in his hand, the sounds of flesh on flesh getting louder.

Claude’s getting closer to his orgasm, only needs a little push, when Sid rolls over so he’s on top of Claude, pushing him down with his body weight, and he leans down to whisper in Claude’s ear.

“Yeah, like that Claude, keep going. This is so good; I knew it would be, God, so good.” Sid’s voice is going breathy, “Next time – next time - if you let me I’ll make it so good I swear. Push you into the shower, put you on your knees – you’d like that wouldn’t you, Claude?”

“Yes, yes, please Sid please,” Claude’s whining but he doesn’t care, the friction of Sid’s hand is so good.

“I knew you’d like it, always known. You’ll be on your knees and you’ll take it from me, all of it.”

“All of it, yes, Sid please.”

“That’s right; you want to be drowning in it, don’t you. Just covered in my piss.”

In between one heartbeat and the next Claude is coming everywhere, sticky and thick all over Sid’s and his own stomach. Sid groans, kneels over Claude so he can finish himself off, his own spend joining with Claude’s on his stomach. Claude is half asleep, drowsy with euphoria when his heart rate kicks up again and registers, really registers, what Sid just said and all of that good feeling flees.

Claude grips Sid’s hand, his own clammy with sweat, “I’m not a pervert.”

Sid flops down next to Claude with a raised brow, “You did grope a cop but okay.”

“No, no I mean the- the-”, Sid has a look of clarity in his eyes.

“Hey it’s okay, I’m not judging you. Watersports doesn’t bother me.”

“It should.” Now Sid looks kind of angry.

“Well it doesn’t and I don’t know if it occurred to you, but it kind of gets me off too.”

Sid did come pretty quick after Claude, “Okay sorry, sorry. I just didn’t want you to think I was some weirdo who…”

Sid looks at Claude and says, “Listen Claude, if you don’t want to do this ever again, that’s ok. I really enjoyed tonight.”

“Me too,” Claude says.

“Good. I wouldn’t mind this becoming a regular thing, us having sex. I also wouldn’t mind pissing on you - if that was something you also wanted.” Claude wishes Sid wouldn’t say it so blasé.

When Claude doesn’t reply to that Sid says, “It’s up to you, Claude. The balls in your court.”

“I… I do want it. Both of those things that you offered.” Claude lifts his gaze up to look at Sid’s pleased face.

“Good, that’s good.” Sid gets up to run off the light before returning to the bed, lying noticeably closer to Claude then he was before.

“We can talk more in the morning,” Claude nods and closes his eyes, head surprisingly quiet but he welcomes it as he falls asleep to the sounds of Sid’s light snoring.

* * *

 

They’re at Claude’s house this time, one of the Penguins off days, watching Westworld together. Claude would normally be enjoying it, but he’s rather distracted by the sight of Sid downing his fifth bottle of water in a row. Claude should not be so turned on by the sight of empty water bottles, but here he is at half chub and Sid obviously knows it, by how he maintains eye contact with Claude as he finishes off the bottle. They’ve been planning this for ages, Claude’s suggestion this time, and they both can’t wait.

“Do you think,” Claude pauses, swallows. “Is it enough - are you ready?”

Sid nods, “I’m ready.”

“Okay, good - that’s good.”

Claude leads Sid to the master bathroom and he strips before stepping into the bathtub and Sid follows suit. Claude is about to get down on his knees when Sid stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Wait, first I want to…” Sid trails off as he leans in close, brushing his lips against Claude’s softly. Claude smiles, finds it charming that Sid didn’t want to piss on him before kissing, and opens his mouth against Sid’s.

They pull away and Claude can see Sid’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright and this is just from them making out. Claude can’t wait to see how he looks after he’s finishing peeing on Claude, if Sid will flush from head-to-toe at such an act.

Sid pushes down gently on Claude’s shoulders and he goes to his knees easily, no point putting up a fight – they both know Claude wants this. Claude’s face-to-face with Sid’s soft dick which he’s holding loosely in his hand, ready to tilt it in Claude’s direction.

“Ready?” Claude is so ready - doesn’t know how he got here on his knees for Sidney Crosby - but he’s ready.

“Do it, Sid.” Claude says as he tilts his head up and closes his eyes.

There’s a second, a huge gap to Claude who’s bracing himself for that first impact, which seems to not be coming, and then then it is. Claude flinches away from the initial droplets that land before he steels himself and stays still for the remaining stream of piss that runs down over his chest and arms. It’s hot where it touches him and the smell, so undeniably urine, makes Claude’s face heat up and he feels so small sitting here letting Sid piss on him. He can hear Sid sighing softly, in obvious relief, and Claude’s skin feels like it’s being pricked by pins all over, he feels so sensitive and overwhelmed by what’s happening here.

“That’s good Claude, I’m almost done. You’ve been so good – thank you for letting me piss on you.” Claude feels so dizzy it’s too hot, Sid’s using him like a toilet and it’s so wrong but _so_ _good_ and Claude just tries to empty his mind and relish in the sensation of the droplets running down his chest, the tight feeling in his gut, the pleased hum that Sid is letting out.

The stream has petered out now, the last drops falling to the floor of the porcelain tub and Claude flutters his eyelashes open to look up. Sid looks just as flushed as Claude feels, red from the tips of his ears to his knees. His eyes are wide and his mouth is open, breathing hard. Sid gets on his knees with Claude and grabs his dick, and Claude feels like he’s harder than he’s ever been in his life, and starts a fast rhythm, rough and messy. It wasn’t going to take much anyway, he’s has been on the edge for what feels like hours, and Claude’s yelling as he comes, a strange mirror to Sid pissing on him as he comes on Sid’s knee that’s positioned next to his dick.

They sit there, breathing hard and staring into each other’s eyes, Sid’s hand still on Claude’s dick and Claude still drenched in Sid’s piss. “Let’s get cleaned up,” Sid finally says, pulling Claude up with him before turning on the shower. Claude looks down so that he can watch the water go down the drain, cleaning him and Sid – wiping them clean and fresh. Claude feels kind of guilty because Sid’s doing all the work here – cleaning them both up – and Sid didn’t come but Sid’s not mentioning it and Claude did just have an earth shattering orgasm after letting Sid piss on him, so he figures he’s allowed to be slightly lazy – he’ll make it up to Sid later.

After drying themselves off they get into bed, curled up facing each other, Claude’s eyes drooping but he stubbornly stays awake because he has a feeling Sid needs to say something.

“That was nice,” Sid says, softly into the dark.

Claude hums an agreement, thinks of the pre-piss kiss and the feeling of Sid cleaning him after – both just as nice as the actual act was, to Claude’s surprise.

“We should do this again; maybe we could meet up during the summer. Would you like that?” Sid sounds kind of tentative, and Claude can appreciate that because it’s something they’ve never done before – none of this is.

And Claude – Claude remembers that warm day in Danny’s kitchen with his hands on the cool counter, breathing hard after Danny left with the words, _you need something other than hockey,_ echoing loudly in his ears. Claude remembers and he doubt Danny had this in mind when he said all that, but.

“Sure, but you’re taking me on a date first, Crosby.” Claude puts his hand against Sid’s chest, feels him inhale and exhale. Unhurried and not worried - content with Claude in his bed. “I’m a classy guy, don’t you know?”

Claude can’t see very well in the dark but the shadows of Sid’s face shift and he can imagine his smile well. “Very classy, Giroux. Okay, but we’re not having grilled cheese no matter how nicely you beg.”

“You’ve evidently never heard me beg,” Claude grins and feels good as Sid places his own hand on Claude’s chest and he’s not so worried about what’s to come.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If I got any details wrong that's because I started writing this after game 3 but went back and tried to correct when the games results changed from what I'd originally written them lol   
> Thank God I didn't do a bracket, I suck at predicting  
> Hope you enjoyed!!!


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